The Blog

This week, we enter the final days of Advent and we will soon celebrate the birth of Jesus, our Emmanuel, God with us. And surely God is with us. Any uncertainty that I have felt has been put to rest as we have journeyed together over the past eight months. God has been so faithful to us. And I have witnessed miracle after miracle of God’s healing, provision and direction when we have needed it the most. And so as our community has entered this season with a profound sense of longing and anticipation, we have been contemplating, what of the Holy is God birthing in us?

Meister Eckhart, a theologian and mystic in the 14th century, has said, “What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to [Jesus] fourteen hundred years ago and I do not also give birth to [Him] in my time and in my culture? We are all meant to be Mary.” We are all called to birth the holy in the midst of our ordinary, everyday lives. To birth the holy right here and right now. To participate in this kingdom where heaven meets earth, just like it did when the Spirit hovered over the waters in Genesis to bring forth all of creation, just like it did when the Spirit hovered over a young peasant girl Mary to bring forth God’s son. And just like the Spirit is hovering over us in the darkness, in the uncertainty, in the unknown, to bring forth God’s purposes in us.

And yet we know that birthing is not tidy a process. It is messy with lots of unknowns along the way. Birthing the holy demands that we release control and let the journey take us where it will. For those of us who have experienced childbirth, we know this. The best thing we can do is to surrender to the process. This is a practice of cultivating trust in the organic unfolding of our lives. If we make space to listen to the deep desires of our hearts and follow them, not knowing exactly where they will take us, we may find ourselves being led to something beyond our own imaginations into something truly beautiful. We experience “birthing pains” because there is a physical and spiritual stretching apart as we make way for an unfurling of new life into the world. The poet David Whyte writes “What you can plan is too small for you to live.” The real adventure of life begins when we release our own plans and allow ourselves to birth what is being brought forth within us.

And this is exactly the process we have been in as a community. I do believe that God is birthing something in us. We’ve been talking about a new birth, a new season for our community beginning in the new year which would be re-launch or replant our little faith community in a new time and new place in January. And we had some plans about how that was going to happen. And yet, now I can see that perhaps our plans were too small. And so we lean into all the unknown of new beginnings and trust that God is leading us forward.

And of course, our inclination is that we want to skip to the good stuff—to the new baby in our arms or to the songs of rejoicing as we proclaim, “Joy to the World!” -- to see what it is we’ve been waiting and longing for. We want to avoid the labor pains. Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to be the way it works. Whatever God is birthing in us never comes without the season of gestation, the surrender to the unknown, the wrestling and pushing until something beautiful is born. Over the last eight months, there has been much uncertainty, much unknown. Many of us have wondered and wrestled, what the heck is God doing? And I know that many of you are still currently in this season. Wondering what God is up to in your lives. But as with all birth, our best efforts to try and control or force the process seem futile until that beautiful thing that is always such a mystery reaches the light and takes its first holy breath.​And so I believe that God is birthing something in us, and that we as a community are being reborn. But it is God’s work. And there is a letting go, a surrendering to the process, an anticipation, and the surprise and unexpected nature of the kingdom. And so we will wait and hope and dream together. Just like Mary, we bear the Divine, giving birth to the Holy within our ordinary lives in an effort to bring Hope, Light, and Life to the world.

Are you longing for reformation? In our world, in our country, in our neighborhoods -- and yes, even in the church? I know I am. It is hard to read the news today. So much violence, injustice, and suffering. It is unimaginable. Horrific. Incomprehensible. Even as I think about my own neighborhood and all the longing, need and suffering represented here, it can be overwhelming. As we ponder the meaning of Advent this season, I am aware, perhaps like never before, of our need. Our collective need. For God to come. Our Emmanuel. God with us. In the flesh. Taking on the vulnerability and fragility of a baby, so that He could share in our humanity in all of its glory and in all of its depravity. God comes to us. God lives with us. The story of Advent is the story of God moving into our neighborhoods. God is here. This is good news.

But is it really? Good news? To our neighbors, to our co-workers, to the immigrant, to the single mom or the elderly shut-in, to those struggling to put food on the table, to those without homes and stability, to those being abused, to those who are addicted, to those without friends or community. Is the gospel really good news? Is the church good news?

Unfortunately, the answer to this question is often a decided no. In so many ways, the church is often portrayed and epitomized to be at best, irrelevant and at worst, more bad news in a world brimming and overflowing with bad news. Judgmental, narrow-minded, naïve, oppressive, hypocritical, legalistic, unenlightened, and harmful. How did we get here? These are the same attributes for which Jesus chastised the religious people in his day.

In Jesus’ inaugurational speech, he declared the prophetic words of Isaiah 61, "The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free.” This is what good news looks like. Jesus was all about bringing freedom, healing, lifting up the poor and the marginalized and the oppressed in society, restoring our humanity and extending scandalous grace. And this is the work he has called us to as the church.

And these words reverberate in my soul. This is what drives me. This is why I said yes to the call to pastor. If it was more of the same - doing church often in very irrelevant ways - then no. No thank you. But this word reformation. It calls to me. It allures me when I think of giving up. It entices me when I grow weary. What if….?

What if the gospel was embodied and reinterpreted in our time and in our day to be good news? Like actual good news? Reflective of the depths of kindness and healing, grace and freedom that I have encountered in Jesus.

What if the church embodied this good news? What if we were known for our sacrifice? Our kindness. Our generosity. Our work in the neighborhood. Our compassion. What if we puzzled people by our desire to listen, our graciousness, our hospitality, our laughter and our unconditional acceptance?

What if people sensed that God had moved into the neighborhood? What if we became champions for the poor and lovers of the marginalized? What if we fought for the flourishing of all of our neighbors? Those who live outside, those without citizenship, those without privilege? What if we decided that it wasn’t okay to live above place with a kind of spirituality that keeps our heads in the clouds -- but instead, chose to live faithfully immersed in the complex stories of our neighborhoods with a commitment to cultivate love and justice there. What if we realized that we needed connection, integration and wholeness just as much as the least of these? What if we decided that it was impossible to live this way of Jesus without some radical shifts in our lifestyles and the way we think about church?

What if the gospel was actually good news and our lives and our communities experienced reformation? This is what I am longing for. What I am waiting, hoping and praying for. This Advent, come, Jesus, come. Move into the neighborhood.

Are you longing for Peace on earth? As our nation continues to reel from a divisive and polarized political election and the ensuing fallout of hate and fear that seems to have gripped our communities, I think many of us are asking the question. How did we get here?

I must admit I can get overwhelmed and somewhat despondent thinking of all the ways that our culture has departed from what is good for the flourishing of human life. But if I am honest, what is most shocking and horrifying to me is the blatant racism and hate that has been unleashed in our country and yes, even in our own local communities. In Shoreline, Washington, I have witnessed firsthand vitriolic language posted on my daughter’s friend’s Instagram page. Her only crime being African American. A parent shouting “Go home!” across the Shorewood high school parking lot at a woman wearing a hijab. A meeting just this morning at City Hall to talk about the concern of hate incidents in our community. Whaaaat? How did we get here?

I am shocked. Horrified. And admittedly, it is because I am white. It is my privilege to be “shocked.” As I have talked with my non-white friends, they are not shocked. No, this is not news to them. Blatant or hidden, they are all too familiar with the deep-seated racism in our culture. This is the air they breathe, the water they swim in. At the same time, the fear is palpable. The anxiety growing.

“Are we safe?” “Will we be separated from our families?” These are the questions that many of our students at Turning Point are asking. Turning Point is our neighborhood nonprofit where we run an afterschool tutoring program and provide weekend food packs to chronically hungry kids. Many of our families are immigrant families. Many of them living at poverty.

This last Sunday at The Practicing Church, we celebrated advent and lit the candle of Peace. And our nonprofit director, Lynn talked about what peace looks like at Turning Point. A crazy, chaotic day unveiled the anxiety churning right beneath the surface. It was the day after the election and the kids were beside themselves. What would this mean for them? Would they be okay? Would they no longer be welcome in their own country, in their own neighborhoods, in their own schools? So her subversive act of peace was to assure them, you are welcome here. You are seen, you are valued and you are safe.

We must not underestimate the power we have to speak Peace to this world. To say that we will not tolerate hate, bigotry, classism or misogyny. That we will be people of acceptance, welcome and hospitality for all, especially those most vulnerable in our communities. That we will fight for equality and justice for all. Regardless of skin color, culture, sexuality, gender, citizenship or economic status. The story of Advent is the story of Jesus coming into a world torn apart by inequality and oppression to bring peace to all of humanity - slave and free, men and women, Jew and Gentile.

And so what does it mean to speak Peace into the anxiety -- to be part of a quiet revolution of love and justice in a climate of fear and hate? What does it mean to cross culture, race and socioeconomic divides to cultivate friendship? Every month, we gather with Turning Point students and families, tutors and neighbors to share a meal. And I always look forward to the wonderful home-cooked dishes, the samosas, rice, wat and injera. But more than that, it is the richness of community. I believe it is just a tiny taste of heaven to sit around the table with my neighbors from Pakistan, Iran, Vietnam, Eritrea and Mexico. This is the stuff of reformation. It certainly is not flashy. No, it won’t make the headlines or trend on Instagram. But this is the practice of peace. This is the hope in our despair, the light in our darkness. So this advent, may we demonstrate and declare Peace on earth and good will to every man, woman and child in the neighborhood.

This Advent, are you longing to be deeply rooted in community? In the last few weeks I have found much comfort and solace simply sharing a meal with friends around the warmth of our candle-lit table midst the long, dark days as the world seems to have lost its freaking mind. In the midst of a nation so polarized and divided, I think there is a growing hunger to be connected. In a culture suffering from deep fragmentation and ever-increasing isolation. Where we sit in front of screens instead of face to face. Where we walk down streets immersed in our own worlds, headphones in, never having to engage another soul. We travel in isolation cells on wheels from garage to work and then back to garage again. So many of us separated from extended family and support. So many of us experiencing the deep freeze of Seattle where friends are hard to find and neighbors are unknown. And so we wait. Hoping. Longing. Aching for more.

I don’t know about you, but often times I can stay ahead of the pursuing loneliness, staying busy and working hard, keeping up with the never-ending demands and checklists of life. But it catches up, doesn’t it? When you are least aware. When you have had a bad day and you feel like all the wind’s been knocked out of you. When you stop long enough to want to let down your hair and can’t think of someone you can shake it with. When the idyllic scenes of the Christmas season elude you, when broken families and dreams only bring heartbreak. This is when the bone-chilling ache of loneliness sets in.

We all are wired for connection. We need it to live. And we certainly need it to thrive. And I believe that our connection to community is absolutley imperative if we are to live full, meaningful lives. This is why I believe in the church. Not in the institution really or even in the current models that people seem to be leaving by the droves. No, I believe in the church in the context of the everyday and the local, the organic and the ordinary. In our neighborhoods and local communities. Where we can share life together as followers of Jesus embodying love in the practicalities of our everyday lives.

This is why I sold my home two years ago to move to the neighborhood in which I work and worship so that I could fully immerse myself in the renewal of my community. This is why we share our house and live in proximity to other families in our faith community. This is why I am committed to fostering relationship with my neighbors, the city, the school district, and the low-income and immigrant families I work with. I believe in the goodness of community. Even more, I believe in the unrealized hope and potential of people of faith living in community. This is why I am so committed to the reformation of the church, to new creativity and experimentation as we seek to be people of peace and love.

And finally, this is why I am inviting you to join us as we begin a new journey and a new adventure, to discover what it means to more fully live into being a rooted community embodying the compassion of Jesus in the neighborhoods we live in.

This May, I said yes to the lead role as pastor of The Practicing Church because I really believe that hope lies in this burgeoning dream to embody and practice the teachings of Jesus as a way of life. That we would no longer think of church as something we go to on a Sunday morning. Rather, that we would be the church, living this radical way of love together in the gritty, mundane realities of our lives on Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday.​So this advent, what are you waiting for, hoping for, longing for? If you are longing for community, I hope you will join us around a meal. In the midst of these dark days of December, what is the light you seek? If you are longing to live into a whole new vision of what the church might look like today, I hope you will explore with us as we set out on a whole new adventure. We wait with deep longing and with stubborn hope.